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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



POEMS 

By grace hopeful 



POK MS 


BY 

GRACE HOPEFUL 

(grace ADELLE KELLER) 

11 


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I902-I908 






COPYRIGHT 1910 
BY EVA KELLER 



• 1 « 



©GLA271416 



^ BY NANNIE R. RICE 

5!^ Who was it that Hved in room number eight, 
And for health and rehef did patiently wait? 
She never complained when symptoms were bad, 
She cheered her neighbors when they were sad, 
And chattering, made the whole porch glad. 
*Twas Grace Hopeful. 

Who was it that had that laugh so bright, 
And a face beaming with merry light? 
Like a heroine brave she bore her pain, 
*Twas a heavenly power that did sustain; 
May her influence long with us remain. 
Our Grace Hopeful. 

- Who was it that left us sorrowing here. 
Longing to see her face so dear? 
She met the Messenger with a smile, 
And never feared that last life mile. 
For God was with her all the while. 
Happy Grace Hopeful! 



%xU S^ktttif 



Grace Adelle Keller was born in Upper San- 
dusky, Ohio, on the nineteenth day of October, 
eighteen hundred and eighty-four. As the days 
passed, under the guidance of Christian parents, 
the fair-haired, blue-eyed baby grew into a beauti- 
ful girl with an unselfish nature and a sunny dispo- 
sition. When but a child herself, she helped her 
mother by caring for her younger brother and sisters. 
Day after day she kept the baby hands out of mis- 
chief and did her little tasks about the house. 

As she worked and played and grew into sweet 
young girlhood, her brain was ever busy wonder- 
ing what was worth while, and she soon decided 
that the best thing she could do was to yield her 
young life to the Master. Thus, early in life, she 
joined the church and ever afterward, in an un- 
obtrusive yet convincing way, her influence as a 
Christian was felt wherever she went. There 
was nothing narrow about her beliefs — she was 
a healthy, normal girl, fond of fun, and her en- 
thusiasm for outdoor life and sports was delight- 
ful to see. 

7 



Deep in her heart was the desire for a college 
education, and when the family moved to Delaware, 
Ohio, in the fall of nineteen hundred and three, 
she was happy in the hope that her dream might 
be realized. Under the broadening influence of 
college life at the Ohio Wesleyan University, her 
wish to be of some service to others grew deeper, 
and she began to prepare herself for active Chris- 
tian work. 

In the fall of her junior year in college she was 
found to be suffering with tuberculosis. Reluc- 
tantly she laid aside her studies and began her 
fight for health. The fact that she felt her disap- 
pointment keenly is evidenced by the poem she 
wrote upon receiving an invitation to what would 
have been her own commencement had her health 
permitted. In "A Call" we can see how it 
grieved her to give up her "dream of the long, 
long years." 

It was late in this same fall, in the sad, beauti- 
ful season of the year, that she left for the West. 
To Arizona she went, alone, to fight the Great 
White Plague. For the sake of her loved ones at 
home, and for the sake of life itself, she fought 
bravely. But Arizona, with all its sunshine, did 

8 



not benefit her. Late in the following spring she 
went to the Agnes Memorial Sanatorium, located 
near Denver, Colorado. All hoped that in a San- 
atorium, where she would be under constant su- 
pervison of physicians and nurses, the progress of 
the disease might be stayed. 

During the eighteen months Grace was there, 
she was confined to her bed most of the time; there 
was never a murmur or a complaint, and because 
she smiled in the face of such overwhelming diffi- 
culties, she gave new courage to those about her 
and made their burdens easier to bear. 

The school of pain and misfortune through 
which Grace was passing developed her character 
wonderfully. It brought out all the qualities that 
constitute a noble woman. In the hours of sleep- 
lessness and suffering her thoughts formed them- 
selves into poems of such searching beauty that 
they touch the hearts of all who read them. A 
few of her poems were written before she left 
home, but out of a larger experience she wrote 
poems more worthy of the name. 

Grace's sunny disposition and her way of get- 
ting the most out of her life, in spite of its disap- 
pointments, won for her hosts of friends. Some 

9 



of her poems show us what friendship meant to 
her. Of these none can equal in beauty the 
"Ode to Katharine." This was written to Kath- 
arine Herring Buck, of the city of Washington, 
a fellow-patient at the Sanatorium and the girl 
Grace loved best of all her Western friends. 

Life even at the Sanatorium was not without 
its pleasant side, for by nature Grace was able to 
distil all the sweetness from it. Her poems in 
lighter vein show the same fun-loving spirit of her 
girlhood days. The secret of her happiness lay 
in her entire forgetfulness of self. No matter how 
weary in mind, no matter how sick in body, she 
always had a word of cheer for those around her. 
She forgot her own troubles in helping others bear 
theirs. At the time she wrote "Lines to a Friend" 
she was as ill as the young man to whom she sent 
the verses. Because she knew he was discouraged, 
she sent him her good-will in this little rhyme. 
Another of her poems, "If I Could Sing," brought 
cheer to her sister Eva, who was ill, and is a fit- 
ting illustration of her thoughtfulness for others. 

She was accustomed to lie on her bed and gaze 
far away to the westward at the magnificent sweep 
of the Rockies. The magic spell of the moun- 

10 



tains was upon her when she wrote "Sunset." 
This great gift of appreciation extended even to 
the smallest things. It caused her to write her 
"Ode to the Jasmine Flower," a poem written 
upon receiving one of the fragrant blossoms from 
a friend who knew that Grace was very ill. 

Grace left the Sanatorium improved but far 
from well. Her friends were encouraged in that 
the rapid progress of the disease had been checked. 
The day she left the Sanatorium she had a long 
talk with the medical director. "Miss Keller," 
he said, "your left lung is entirely affected." She 
answered, "Fll breathe with my right." After a 
pause he said agaki, "The upper part of your 
right lung is diseased." Intrepidly she answered, 
"I '11 breathe with the lower part." Once more 
he said, "Some of the cells of the lower part of 
the right lung are diseased." Grace was still un- 
daunted. Her reply is a fitting illustration of the 
courage so characteristic of the girl and of her 
determination to get well in spite of everything: 
"I'll breathe with the healthy ones." 

She then went to the Adams Memorial, a home 
well equipped for those in search of health. Dur- 
ing the time she was there she grew worse. She 

II 



knew that she was losing ground, but she never 
told those dearest to her. Her home letters, 
always hopeful, were to the casual reader as 
bright and full of cheer as ever. But to those 
who could read between the lines there was an 
undercurrent of sadness or weariness, it may have 
been, as though the struggle were becoming too 
great. She wrote poems so full of haunting sweet- 
ness and pathos that they bring tears to the eyes. 
They tell the longing of a sick and suffering girl 
for home and friends. Because she did not wish 
to sadden any one, she never told her loved ones 
how ill she was, or how she longed to see them, 
but kept eagerly looking forward to the visit from 
her father and sister Hazel in the summer. 

But there was a sudden turn for the worse and 
before her father, who had been summoned by tel- 
egraph, could reach her, on the thirtieth day of 
May, nineteen hundred and eight, our soldier, 
weary of the long, unending struggle, surrendered 
to Death. On the afternoon before that last sad 
day, during a flash of her old-time brightness, she 
wrote to Clara L. Kinney, her nurse, of whom 
she was very fond, a little poem called "Sunshine 
and Shadow." 

12 



Her death was as beautiful as her hfe had been. 
The same calm, unwavering faith that sustained 
her through the years of sickness carried her tri- 
umphantly through the Valley of the Shadow. 
Peacefully and with a smile on her face she slipped 
away from us into Eternity. 

On the third day of June she was laid to rest in 
Oak Grove cemetery in Delaware, Ohio. Friends 
came from far and near, bringing as a last tribute 
the flowers she loved. Through their tears they 
thanked God for the "beautiful, singing soul that 
had mounted heavenward like the lark." In the 
words of her physician, Dr. O. D. Wescott, who 
was with her at the last, " Her every thought and 
action in life breathed the very essence of unself- 
ishness and Christ-likeness; her life was a bless- 
ing to all who knew her, — her memory is a 
benediction." 



13 



Page 

Why 17 

A Tale of the San ... 19 

Limericks 22 

The Smile and the Frown . 23 
The Green Apples . . . .24 

A Child's Confession ... 25 

The Wasted Eggs .... 26 

His Answer 27 

Heartless 28 

The Teacher's Fate . . . 29 

A Reverie 30 

The Wanderer's Return . . 33 

The Storm and the Shepherd . 35 

The Wanderer .... 37 

Friendship 38 

Christmas 39 

15 



Page 

Easter . . . . . . .41 

Lines to a Friend ... 43 

To THE Girls 44 

To AN Absent Friend ... 46 

Ode to a Jasmine Flower . . 47 

Ode to Katharine ... 48 

If I Could Sing .... . 49 

Sunshine and Shadow ... 50 

Sunset 51 

Heart's-ease . . . . . 52 

Sadness 53 

Loneliness 55 

Weariness 56 

Love 57 

I Wonder! . . . . . .58 

A Call 60 

A Prayer 61 



i6 



5i% 

You ask me why I'm lying here 

So quiet and so still ; 
You say I look so strong and well, 

You ask me if I 'm ill. 

Well, if to me an ear you '11 lend, 

And cast off every fear, 
I'll tell you then my tale of woe, — 

But let's go back a year. 

Last year, through some misfortune sad, 

A bug got in my chest, 
And to exterminate that bug. 

The doctor sent me West. 

It was no harmless little thing, 

In fact it was a beast; 
The way I raised all winter long, 

You'd thought that I was yeast. 

Not East, but yeast, you understand, 

The tale I'm 'bout to tell; 
Those little bugs, they spread and spread, 

And multiphed Hke — well — 
17 



The doctor then advised a San, 

To rid me of this pest, 
For instead of only one small bug. 

There were millions in my chest. 

To the San I went as big as life, 
To gain my old-time health. 

But instead of getting back my lost, 
The San — it got my wealth. 

The San my mon, the bug my lung. 
And yet I Ve courage still, 

For one thing sure, that bug will stop 
When my lungs have had their fill. 



A ®ab 0f tlf^ Bun 

So you thought if you asked about the San 
I would think you forward and bold ? 

Why, bless your heart, Til tell you a tale, 
But don't let your blood run cold. 

Perhaps you'll be shocked at the technical terms 

That I have selected with care. 
But they're known to all the people here 

Who live in the open air. 

You know the Agnes Memorial San 

Is a home in the Woolly West, 
Where people called lungers can easily find 

A comfortable haven of rest. 

"Now what is a lunger?" I hear you say. 

Well, 'tis a queer word, I declare; 
It's a person whose lungs and bronchial tubes 

Are considerably out of repair. 

This home for the lungers, the Agnes Mem San, 

Is really an interesting place. 
For each one who enters the corridor halls 

Is counseled, and taught how to chase. 

19 



A ®ab nf tif^ ^an 



There are some lungers here at the Agnes Mem San, 
Who have trouble to no great extent, 

And yet, if they've bugs, be they many or few, 
They have plenty of cause to lament. 

There are some lungers here who have bugs by 
the score. 

And holes as big as brickbats ; 
One can almost imagine the fuss the bugs make 

As they scramble to peek through the slats. 

There 's another class, then, which we have at the 
San, 
The kind that makes music galore; 
When there's company around, and the poor lunger 
laughs. 
The T.B.s become quite a bore. 

They rattle and squeak and squirm fit to kill. 
Till the lunger becomes much distressed ; 

His anger increases until he gets mad. 
Then he cusses this musical pest. 

There are some people here whose lives are made up 

Of expectoration and pain; 
They cough off their heads ten times in a day. 

And yet with each cough seem to gain. 

20 



A ©ab nf % ^an 



1 can see by your face, you are scared to death 

At the tame little story I've told; 
Don't take it so hard, there are worse things than 
bugs. 

Which are things not so easy to hold. 

Don't think that because we have busted lungs, 

The world doesn't treat us fair; 
We're as gay a bunch as you will find, 

For we live in the open air. 

So cheer up, my friend, and don't be alarmed, 

If a grave-dodger is your fate; 
There are brighter lots in the world, I know. 

But the Agnes Mem San is great. 



21 



There is a young man at the San, 
The patients would give him the can, 

But because a man, Phipps, 

Hands him over the tips, 
He thinks himself quite a man. 

There is a young Doctor Steiner, 
You'd think him a very rich miner. 

Each word has the stress 

Of the hydraulic press. 
There's no one who has it down finer. 



22 



He smiled — and oh, her face lit up 

Like diamonds in the sun. 
She blushed — I knew at once for sure 

That Cupid had begun. 

He spoke — the richness of his voice 

Sank deep into her heart. 
She sighed — I saw by Cupid's face 

He 'd shot another dart. 

He frowned — and Cupid turned his back, 

And left them in despair. 
She wept, and said, " I should have known — 

Of men and smiles, beware!" 



23 



olljie (Bttm Apples 

A little girl sat in the garden swing 

Eating some apples green; 
She hid amid the nodding flowers, 

So she could not be seen. 

"They taste so good, I'd like some more." 
She called to her playmate there; 

He answered back, "Oh, no, little girl, 
You really wouldn't dare." 

That night a mother bent over a crib. 

She heard a sob and a moan; 
"O mama," the voice from the cradle said, 

"I wish I'd left 'em alone." 



'*Papa, do you think I'm awful bad?" 

A little boy asked one day. 
"Why, my lad, what have you done 

That makes you talk that way?" 

The child looked up in his father's face, 
There was mischief in his eye, 

"Why, papa, when mama went upstairs, 
I ate her company pie." 



25 



5FI|^ WuBUh Sg00 

A funny old man, with a little brown beard, 

Strolled into a grocery store. 
He sat on a barrel and started to tell 

Queer anecdotes by the score. 

This little old man of course did not know 
The barrel was filled with eggs; 

The top broke through, and, lo and behold ! 
The grocer saw nothing but legs. 

The grocer immediately helped him out; 

'Twas funny to see the man grin. 
He said to the grocer, "I deserved all 1 got, 

But to waste all those eggs was a sin." 



26 



'*Why do you look so cross and frown? 

You knew I was just in fun, 
When I said I was so awfully mad, 

I 'd throw myself into the run." 

''If you want to know why I look so grave, 

ril tell you honest and true. 
When you made that threat, I knew right then 

It was something you wouldn't do." 



27 



l^mvtlmBl 



A green chap courted a city belle, 

At first she thought it fun, 
But she soon grew tired, and when he called 

She acted very glum. 

The young man asked what the meaning was, 

Of the girl whom he adored; 
He did not see, though she made it plain, 

That she was very bored. 

At last she grew so tired of him. 

Her anger began to seethe. 
She said, "Go home to your dad, my boy. 

Till you cut your wisdom teeth." 



28 



The teacher lisped so very bad, 
The children were much amused. 

The poor man tried to do his best, 
But still he was quite confused. 

He said, "I am going to try the stunt 

Of Demosthenes in his day, 
And put some pebbles under my tongue, 

To drive this lisp away." 

He put the pebbles in his mouth, 

They were small and smooth and round. 

But alas ! the smallest slipped down his throat,- 
His Hsp lies 'neath the ground. 



29 



Alone I sat one evening, 

As the crowds were passing by, 

I thought of the world and its beauty, 
With my face upturned to the sky. 

The sky was indeed a study, 

For the moon, with its silvery glow, 
Seemed to penetrate even the darkness 

Of my heart, with its care and woe. 

As I sat alone that evening 

Bathed in the moon's bright light, 

I fell in a sad, sweet reverie. 
And dreamed far into the night. 

I saw outstretched before me. 
In letters as bright as gold. 

The words of Christ, our Master, 
"Gather them into the fold." 

Then I saw in my dream a pasture, 

Filled with grazing sheep. 
And the shepherd there to guide them. 

Had carelessly fallen asleep. 
30 



When he woke from his sleep, 'twas evening, 
And he hastened to open the gate, 

But his sheep were gone from the pasture, — 
Their shepherd had come too late. 

Had he only been true to his duty. 

And watched with careful eye, 
Not one of the sheep would have wandered, 

When darkness veiled the sky. 

'Twas long that I sat thus dreaming. 

And ever the one refrain. 
That came from the lips of the Master, 

Reechoed again and again. 

Those words, in their deepest meaning. 
Those words, which were written in gold, 

Were recalled, as I thought of that shepherd 
Whose sheep strayed far from the fold. 

I awoke from my quiet reverie 

With a quick and sudden start. 
For the things which I had been dreaming 

Came home to my troubled heart. 
31 



Then I knew why I had been weary, 
Why my heart had been so cold, 

For I had been idly dreaming. 
Not bringing them into the fold. 



32 



I hear the chimes of the old church bell, 
Pealing so sweetly that old, old knell, 
Which, sounding so clear from the belfry tower, 
Fills me with peace and love and power. 

I wonder, hearing the peals so sweet, 
If, wandering far on a lonely street, 
Some world-weary boy away from home, 
For a meager living has had to roam. 

I wonder if some one, with words of cheer, 
E'er speaks to that boy, to lighten his fear; 
I wonder if he dreams of a mother lone. 
Who prays for her boy, afar from home. 

I sit thus dreaming: a wonderful peace 
Comes o'er my soul as the church bells cease; 
My heart is full of wonderful joy. 
For at the door stands that lonely boy. 

So changed his face, so gray his hair, 
Hardship has marked his visage fair; 
He trembles and sheds a silent tear, — 
A mother's prayers have brought him here. 

33 



©In* Manbrrer'a Upturn 



Oh, boy, if you're out in the world alone, 
Far from father and mother and home. 
Just breathe a prayer to God above. 
And thank Him again for a mother's love. 



34 



The sky was black, the tall trees groaned, 
The north wind howled and sorrowfully moaned, 
The lightning flashed through the fearful sky, 
We knew a dreadful storm was nigh. 

The herdsman called to the straying sheep, 

But grazing in clover, thick and deep, 

They heeded not the warning call 

Till the fierce storm broke with deafening pall. 

The rain came down in a torrent sheet. 
The piercing wind drove the pelting sleet. 
The tall, old elm trees bent and swayed. 
The herdsman trembled and grew afraid. 

He hurried the sheep to a sheltering nook 
Down by the angry and turbulent brook; 
And while he waited the storm to cease. 
His mind grew calm and he felt sweet peace. 

He remembered how often in Galilee 
The Saviour preached by the deep blue sea; 
How He risked His life in deeds so bold. 
To bring His followers into the fold. 

35 



Wf^t Btotm attb % ^litpliBrh 



The shepherd sighed and burst in tears, 
A thing he had not done for years; 
He bowed his head and breathed a prayer, 
And yielded his life to his Master's care. 

The wind died down, the dark clouds passed' 
The fearful storm was o'er at last; 
The sheep with silvery, tinkling bell 
Told the shepherd that all was well. 



36 



©I|^ Wmhntt 

Wanderer, come and rest awhile 
By the cool and sheltering stream ; 

You have traveled far with a heavy load, — 
Lie down to sleep and dream. 

You have come o'er the hot and burning sand. 
You've been fanned by the parching winds; 

You have wandered far in the desert heat, 
Come, rest 'neath the sheltering pines. 



37 



iFrfen&sIjtp 



I saw a smile pass o'er a face, 

A face both brave and sad; 
I wondered what touched that troubled face 

To make it look so glad. 

I studied that face, so handsome and strong. 
Where beauty and sorrow blend. 

And I found the sadness had been dispelled 
By the word and look of a friend. 



38 



How quickly Time flies and onward does speed ! 
Like a horseman riding his spirited steed; 
Old Father Time again reappears, 
And steadily guides us on through the years. 

The old bells chime and ring forth praise, 
That always is present on Christmas days; 
For we know how joyous on that glad morn 
Were the shepherds of old when Christ was born. 

We welcome and greet each happy new year, 
But memories of the old we ever hold dear; 
Its history is stamped with indelible print 
Upon each of our hearts with glowing tint. 

Christmas is here! But the year that has sped 
Clings to us yet by a stranded thread; 
'Twill soon be broken and then — what then? 
Many will dream of what might have been. 

What might have been? — Ah! no one knows, 
For heartaches and sorrows and untold woes 
Are often concealed 'neath the aching brow 
Of the silent man — the man at the plow. 

39 



There are hearts that are hungry for some kind deed, 
So now is the time to sow good seed ; 
Let the man whose life is joy unalloyed 
Help the man whose life of pleasure is void. 

The year is soon gone and its shadows cast, 
But memories old throng about us fast. 
Perhaps some sorrow has darkened our days, 
But behind the cloud are the sun's bright rays. 

May you, my dear friends, be blessed with joy, 
And Christmas to you mean more than a toy. 
May a number of happy and prosperous years 
Bring joy unto you instead of tears. 

^ ^ ^ ^ # 

This little package of home-made fudge 
Is not sent to you because of a grudge, 
But just as a token to make you remember 
This glad Christmas time in a happy December. 



40 



'Twas midnight, — and a silence fell 
O'er hill and meadow, glen and dell, 
A silence, broken by the groan 
Of Him who prayed there all alone. 

Alone, ah, yes ! for yonder slept 
The beloved disciples who guard had kept; 
Sleeping for sorrow, they could not know 
Their Master's grief for a world of woe. 

Judas Iscariot, the traitor bold. 

Knew the Master's resort of old, 

And when He arose from His earnest prayer, 

The cruel mob had gathered there. 

They lead Him away to Calvary now. 
With a crown upon His majestic brow, 
A crown, not of regal splendor or fame, 
But a plait of thorns — O cruel shame! 

The Prince of Men, the King of Kings, 
Whose glory now the whole world sings, 
Hung on that cross long, long ago, 
Because He loved His children so. 
41 



In all His anguish and His pain, 
"Forgive them," was the one refrain 
He uttered with His dying cry; 
Then darkness veiled the earth and sky. 

Darkness, ah, yes! for Christ was slain, 
And the veil of the temple was rent in twain, 
That star which guided by night and day 
Had utterly vanished and died away. 

With the first gray streaks of the Sabbath day, 
The women with spices wended their way 
To the tomb where their blessed Master was laid, 
But the stone was gone which the door had stayed. 

Two men in shining garments said, 
"Why seek the living among the dead.^" 
The Master is risen, don't be so sad, 
But tell His disciples the news so glad." 

The sun shone out, the sky was bright. 
Nature burst forth in glad delight. 
The birds their carols sweet did sing 
To Jesus, the Saviour, the risen King. 

42 



Vm not a girl with violet eyes, 

Nor one with soft black hair; 
I'm not a maid from southern climes, 

With the charms that make her fair. 
But a maid with eyes that are almost green, 

And a voice like a muffled drum, 
Sends a message of cheer and jolly good-will 

To a friend who is feeling bum. 



43 



Where is the dear old crew, girls, 
That used to chase the cure? 

Where is the dear old bunch, girls. 
The bunch that was always poor? 

Where is the jolly old crowd, girls. 
That used to chase at Phipps? 

They're scattered here and there, girls, 
Giving their neighbors tips. 

Some of the dear old bunch, girls. 

Are scattered near and far, 
Buying for their doctors 

A longed-for motor car. 

Some of the gay old lungers 
Have roamed the town about. 

Boarding here and there, girls. 
Until they were turned out. 

We've listened to tales of woe, girls, 
Have listened and chased the cure, 

We've boosted instead of knocked, girls, 
We've really been quite demure. 
44 



Some of the dear old crowd, girls, 

We are very glad to tell. 
Are living now at home, girls, 

At home, both strong and well. 

Most of the dear old crowd, girls, 

Have left us one by one. 
And are living now the happy life. 

Where their toil of chasing is done. 

All but a few of the bunch, girls. 
Are sleeping 'neath the sod. 

And the weary ones that are left, girls, 
Are awaiting the will of God. 



45 



®0 an Abawt JmnJi 

I know now why the days seem long, 

And why my heart is sad; 
It is because 1 love you, dear, 

*Twas you who made me glad. 

'Twas you who with one tender look 
Could calm my troubled heart; 

'Twas you who made the days seem bright, 
Why should we have to part? 

'Twas you who with untiring love 

Would sympathize with me; 
When trouble comes and I am sad, 

My heart cries out for thee. 



46 



You are only a little jasmine flower, 

But I love you, oh, so much; 
Your breath, so fragrant and so strong, 

Has healing in its touch. 

You came one night when I lay in pain, 
When the clock ticked slow the hour; 

You came when I longed for something sweet, 
You dear little jasmine flower! 

You are only a little jasmine flower, 
But you brought me a peace so deep; 

You calmed a weary, suffering soul. 
And you brought me restful sleep. 

I shall not forget you, dear little flower. 
Though your beauty has faded away; 

You came to me once when I needed you most 
And you came in my heart to stay. 



47 



Katharine, I longed for you night and day, 
I sighed and grieved when you went away; 
I could not help but shed a tear, 
For I've loved you, Katharine, 'most a year. 

You suffered long, and yet were kind, 
You had a calm and quiet mind; 
Your face showed suffering, bitter, keen. 
How could you, dear, be so serene? 

Tve wondered oft, as the days go by. 
If perhaps you ever breathe a sigh. 
And think of me and the jolly past? 
Yes, I know you do, for memories last. 

Katharine, come back! I love you dear! 
It seems that I must have you near, 
For I love you more than you can know, 
And rU love you always, where'er you go. 



48 



Oh, could I sing some soft, sweet notes! 

I'd sing them, dear, to you. 
For it seems in song the soul pours forth 

Thoughts that are pure and true. 

Fd tell you how often I think of home, 
And each of the loved ones there, 

How I long to hear your gentle voice, 
Or your step upon the stair. 

If I could sing, I'd fill my song 
With love and hope and cheer, 

That would blend in perfect harmony, 
And touch your waiting ear. 

I'd carry you back to the beautiful past. 
Where we'd linger a moment to dream,- 

Perhaps you'd forget the present hour 
That is filled with sorrow keen. 

Oh, could I sing! My sweetest song 

Would be for you, my dear, 
I'd fill your soul with tender thoughts, 

And dry the falling tear. 
49 



Was ever a day more perfect, 
Was ever a sky more blue, 

Was ever a maid more happy, 
Than when I first met you? 

Was ever a day more dreary. 
Was ever a sky more gray. 

Was ever a heart more lonely, 
Than when you went away? 



50 



The mountains glow with purple, 

The sky is of pure gold; 
The meadow lark sings softly 

A song we heard of old. 

The shadows of the twilight 
Reflect on the plains of green; 

The snow-capped peaks of the mountains 
Are clothed in golden sheen. 

The mountains, bathed in splendor, 

The earth in a halo bright, 
Blend for a morrient only, 

Then fade into darkening night. 

The one who beholds such glory 

Of the evening setting sun. 
Will wonder for one brief moment. 

If Heaven is just begun. 



51 



^mvfB-mBt 



Dear aching heart, be still ! 

Don't throb and tremble so ; 
Your sorrows can't compare with those 

Through which He had to go. 

You have your heartaches, yes, 1 know, 
And sometimes lonely hours ; 

But was His path, the Lowly One, 
All strewn with grass and flowers? 

Ah, no ! How often, wearied 
By the heat of the burning sun, 

He comforted sad and lonely hearts, 
Till the day was fully done. 

Do you, O heart, when you're aching 
From sorrow keen and deep. 

Turn to another lonely soul 
And tell it not to weep? 

Dear restless heart, be still ! 

Don't faint nor troubled be. 
But just look up and hear His words, 

"Fear not, I'll pilot thee." 
52 



You ask me why Vm weary, 

You ask me why I'm sad, 
When every one seems happy 

And all the world is glad. 
I wish that I might tell you, 

But the reason lies so deep, 
I know I could not tell it 

For fear that I should weep. 

The smile that once played on my lips 

And twinkled in my eye 
Has gone, and from my aching heart 

There comes a weary sigh. 
The jolly laugh which, oh, so oft 

Rang out upon the air 
Has ceased, and from my heavy heart 

There comes a deep despair. 

But there is One who understands. 

To whom I love to go. 
I tell Him everything that comes 

Of joy, or pain, or woe. 

53 



And now while clouds hang very low 

And tempests toss the sea, 
I hear Him whisper through the storm, 

"Fear not, I'll pilot thee." 



54 



Sometimes my heart cries out for home, 
For some kind and tender word; 

Sometimes I turn to the far off plains, 
But they answer never a word. 

Sometimes I lie through the long, long night, 

Tossing with fever and pain; 
Sometimes there comes a silent wind 

That whispers a soft refrain. 

Sometimes I hear the song of a bird. 
And I know he is singing to me; 

Sometimes a sunbeam caresses my face, 
I know it's a message for me. 

If you've never longed for a loving word, 

If you've never been really sad. 
Then you've never reached the silent depths, 

Where Nature can make you glad. 



5S 



When the shadows round me gather, 
And my tired eyelids close, 

Call me not, for I am weary, — 
Let me rest in sweet repose. 

For my life has been so lonely, 
And my heart has yearned alone; 

Let me sleep, for I am dreaming 
Of my loved ones safe at home. 

If I should forget to waken, 
And sleep on forevermore, 

Just remember I am dreaming 
Of the happy days of yore. 



56 



When the days grow weary, 
And the hours seem long, 

Just remember, dearie. 
My heart is full of song. 

When the twilight gathers, 

And the shadows make you sad. 

Think of me. I love you; 
My heart is ever glad. 

When the night winds whisper 
Sweet songs of hope and cheer. 

They have caught my message 
Of love for you, my dear. 



57 



3 Wonhtxl 

I wonder if at evening time, 

When the sun sinks in the west, 
When the twilight shades are faUing, 

And all nature is at rest; 
I wonder if when the birds are hushed. 

And the blue skies turn to gray. 
If you ever think of a lonely child 

In the mountains far away. 

I wonder why those happy days 

That seemed just like a dream, 
When our hearts were as full of music 

As a rippling, bubbling stream; 
I wonder why those happy days 

That meant so much to me 
Have gone, just like the autumn leaves. 

That fall from off the tree. 

I wonder oft when the chapel bell 
Rings forth its merry chimes. 

If others, too, are softened 
In far-off sunny climes; 

58 



31 Wmhttl 

I wonder if these joyous days, 

This season of the year, 
Call to their minds sweet memories, 

And to their eyes a tear. 

I wonder if in the years to come. 

The pure, sweet plans I chose 
Will unfold, and reveal their beauty 

Like the petals of the rose; 
I wonder if then Til understand 

Why Youth and Sorrow meet. 
And know why so many youthful lives 

Are touched by the bitter-sweet. 



59 



A ©all 

A call to my own Commencement! 

A call — and I not there! 
Can it be that I am dreaming? 

No, for I read it with special care. 

A call to my own Commencement! 

A dream of the long, long years! 
Do you wonder that when I read it 

My eyes filled up with tears? 

A call to my own Commencement 
Means a call to home and health, 

Two of life's richest blessings, — 
I would not covet wealth. 

Just to be home with mother. 
And all that is dear to me. 

Would be such joy that the angels 
Would linger a moment to see. 



60 



A prag^r 



I do not know, I would not know 

What life holds forth for me; 
I only know that day by day 

I trust my all to Thee. 

I do not know, I only pray 

That life and health be mine, 
And life be full of joy and love. 

Grant not my will, but Thine. 

If sorrow come instead of joy, 

ril hold Thy hand so tight, 
That e*en through shadows dark and drear, 

My eyes will see the light. 

If through the valley Thou shalt lead, 

And in the shadow lone. 
Help me, dear Lord, to follow Thee 

Till Thou shalt call me home. 



6i 



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